Gypsy Breynton Part 15

"I say, little gal, I told ye a fib the day ye fust come. I did have a dinner, though it war a terrible measly one--Mrs. Breynton, marm!"

Mrs. Breynton stepped up to her.

"What was that ye read t'other day, 'bout liars not goin'clock into the kingdom of heaven?--I 'most forgot."

Gypsy crept out, softly. She was wondering how her mother had managed her charity to this fretful old woman so wisely, that her words, unfitly spoken, were becoming a trouble to herself, and her hours of increasing pain turned into hours of late, faint repentance. Perhaps the charm lay in a certain old book, dog-eared and worn, and dusty from long disuse on the cupboard shelf. This little book Mrs. Breynton had found, and she had read in it many times, until that painful groaning ceased.

And so one night it chanced that the old yellow cat sat blinking at the light, and the yellow, furrowed face turned over on the pillow and smiled, and lay still. The light burned out, and the morning came; the cat jumped purring upon the bed, and seeing what was there, curled up by it, with a mournful mewing cry.

"Peace Maythorne says," said Gypsy, "that if Mrs. Littlejohn went to heaven, she will be so happy _to find she doesn't scold_! Isn't it funny, in Peace, to think of such things?"

CHAPTER IX

CAMPING OUT

Do you remember Mr. Gough's famous story of the orator who, with a great flourish of rhetoric as prelude, announced to his audience the startling fact that there was a "gre--at difference in people?" On the strength of this original statement, it has been supposed that there were a variety of tastes to be suited in selecting for the readers of "Gypsy Breynton" the most entertaining pa.s.sages of this one summer in her life. The last two chapters were for the quiet young people. This one is for the lively young people--the people who like to live out of doors, and have adventures, and get into difficulties, and get over them. The quiet people aforesaid need not read it, if they don't want to.

Did you ever "camp out"?

If you ever did, or ever very much wanted to, you will know how Gypsy felt one morning after her summer vacation had begun, and she was wondering what she should do with herself all day, when Tom came into her room and said,--

"Gypsy, don't you wish you were a boy? I'm going to spend a week at Ripton, with Hallam."

"Mr. Hallam!" exclaimed Gypsy. Mr. Guy Hallam was a lawyer about thirty years old; but Tom had the natural boy's feeling about "mistering" any one, that he had gone on fis.h.i.+ng excursions with, ever since he could remember; while Gypsy was more respectful.

"Ripton!" said Gypsy, again; "Oh, dear me!"

"And going to camp out and have a fire, and cook our trout, and shoot our rabbits," said Tom, with an aggravating appearance of indifference, as if these were only a specimen of innumerable delights unmentioned.

"Oh, dear _me_!" said Gypsy, with a long sigh.

"There are several disadvantages in being a girl, my dear, as you will find out, occasionally," said Tom, with a lordly air.

"Girls are just as good as boys!" answered Gypsy, flas.h.i.+ng up.

"Only they can't camp out."

"I'm not so sure of that, sir."

"Indeed!"

"Girls do camp out; I've heard about it; parties of ladies and gentlemen go out up on the Adirondacks. You might take Sarah Rowe and me."

Tom smiled a very superior smile.

"Come, Tom, do--there's a good fellow!"

"Take along a couple of girls that can't fish, and scream when you shoot a squirrel, and are always having headaches, and spraining their ankles, and afraid to be left alone? No, thank you!"

"I can fish, and I'm no more afraid to be left alone than you are!" said Gypsy, indignantly. "I'll go and ask mother."

She ran down stairs, slamming all the doors, and rushed noisily into the parlor.

"Oh, mother! Tom's going to camp out with Mr. Guy Hallam, and can't Sarah and I go, too?"

"Oh, what now?" said Mrs. Breynton, laughing, and laying down her work.

"Only for a week, mother, up Ripton--just think! With a tent and a fire, and Mr. Hallam to take care of us."

This last remark was a stroke of policy on Gypsy's part, for Tom had come in, and it touched a bit of boy's pride, of which Gypsy was perfectly aware he had a good deal.

"As if I couldn't take as good care of you as Guy Hallam, or the next man!" he said, in an insulted tone.

"Then Tom is willing you should go," observed Mrs. Breynton.

"Why--I don't know," said Tom, who had not intended to commit himself; "I didn't say so."

"But you will say so--now, there's a dear, good Tom!" said Gypsy, giving him a soft kiss on one cheek. Gypsy did not very often kiss Tom unless he asked her, and it was the best argument she could have used; for, though Tom always pretended to be quite above any interest in such tender proceedings, yet this rogue of a sister looked so pink and pretty and merry, with her arms about his neck and her twinkling eyes looking into his, that there was no resisting her. Gypsy was quite conscious of this little despotism, and was enough of a diplomatist to reserve it for rare and important occasions.

"We--ell," said Tom, slowly; "I don't know as I care, if Hallam doesn't--just for once, you understand; you're not to ask me again as long as you live."

"There, there!" cried Gypsy, clapping her hands, and jumping up and down.

"Tom, you are a cherub--a wingless cherub. Now, mother!"

"But supposing it rains?" suggested Mrs. Breynton.

"Oh, we'll take our water-proofs."

"The tent will be dry enough," put in Tom, bringing in his forces like a good soldier, now he was fairly enlisted.

"But if you catch cold and get sick, my dear; Tom won't want to cut short his excursion to bring you home."

"There's Mr. Fisher, right on top of the mountain; he'd bring me in his wagon. Besides, I wouldn't be silly enough to get sick."

"But Sarah might."

"Sarah does as I tell her," said Gypsy, significantly. "I should take care of her."

"But Mrs. Rowe may not be willing Sarah should go, and Mr. Guy Hallam must be asked, Gypsy."

"Well, but----," persisted Gypsy; "if Mrs. Rowe and Mr. Hallam and everybody are willing, may I go?"

"Well," said Mrs. Breynton, after a few minutes' thinking, "I guess so; if Tom will take good care of you; and if you will promise to go to Mr.

Fisher's the rainy nights--I mean if it rains hard."